Clary lost nothing
by deadlybeautiful
Summary: What did she lose? What did this girl lose from the war with her father? Nothing, that’s what. Clary lost nothing. Izzy drabbel.


**Drabbel, again.  
**

**I don't own the Mortal Instruments.**

* * *

Isabelle Lightwood stared up at the ceiling with a sort of resolute hopelessness penetrating into the marrow of her bones like sharp, cold icicles and forced herself to smile like everything was perfectly fine. She let them believe that she's happy.

She's not.

This is what happens, more and more often as her dreams fill with a certain murderer and her brother's face as blood sprays across the kitchen. Sometimes the blood sprays across her, drips down from her fingers- his blood on her hands. Sometimes Alec's face takes the place of Max's. Sometimes they're not in the City of Glass, but right here in the institute.

Not once can she save them from _him_. Not once.

Every time she wakes up crying, clutching at her sheets like they're _his_ neck and she's trying to strangle the life out of _him_ like _he_ took the life out of Max.

Clary glances at her, Jace at her side, from where the red-haired girl is studying what seems like every book in the library. Isabelle is sprawled on one of the chairs, an open book on her lap, not reading.

Isabelle can't stand her sometimes. Really, truly can't. She tries, for Jace, but sometimes she hates the girl so much. Almost as much as Isabelle hates herself.

What did she lose? What did this girl lose from the war with her father?

Nothing, that's what.

Clary lost nothing.

She gained a father (a sadistic bastard, but still), a boyfriend, a gift, a memory, a brother (a murder, but still.)

Isabelle lost a brother, her confidence in battle, the ability to sleep through the night, and a part of her that can't be explained.

It was Clary's battle, and it seems like Isabelle lost more than she did.

She can't help but be bitter about that. She can't help but hate Clary for bringing this upon her family.

Her mother cries now- a woman stronger than Isabelle could ever hope to be, crumbled by the loss of her youngest son.

Her father is shaken, though he's not the type to show it.

Alec misses Max.

But none of them have his blood on their hands. None of them had to watch it happen, helpless to stop it. None of them had to see him cry, or hear him scream their name for help. None of them had to have the image of his last moments ingrained in their mind for the rest of their lives.

Clary sure didn't.

In fact there's only one person that Isabelle can think of that suffered as much as she has.

Isabelle snaps her book closed, and Clary jumps -at least she's rewarded that joy. She stands and tosses the book down on the table next to the chair she was just in before striding out of the library.

He's right where she expected to find him -a small coffee shop with a few people she doesn't recognize.

"Simon."

He whirls around -almost too fast- surprised. He's wearing a lame T-shirt and jeans and the Mark is still on his forehead -stark black against pale skin.

"Isabelle?" He asks, as if he's confused.

"Would you come on a walk with me?" She asks, ignoring the way his friends looked at her and back at each other, making suggestive faces. She doesn't care really.

"Uh, sure?"

She nods and starts towards the door, knowing he'll follow.

He does.

It's a few blocks before he asks.

"Why are we walking?" He asks without any of the Simon-esque bravo she's grown to like.

"Why don't you hate her?" She finally asks.

Somehow, Simon knows just who she's talking about.

"Because I love her."

"How can you?"

"I don't know. Sometimes I want to hate her for this," He gestures to himself and his Mark, "but, I can't."

They walk on for more than a few blocks before she has anything to say.

"Who did you see?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When she did that thing in Accords Hall. The person you love most. Who did you see?"

"I saw her."

Another block passed.

"Who did you see?"

"Alec."

Walking with Simon didn't make the world seem right, it didn't make everything better. They weren't in love. They probably never would be. But, it made Isabelle feel better, and these days, that's all that mattered.


End file.
